


Omnia Mutantur, Nihil Interit

by quakingaspen



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Merlin, Friendship, M/M, Magic Revealed, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 17:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6161026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quakingaspen/pseuds/quakingaspen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur wants answers. Mordred wants acceptance. Merlin just wants to keep everyone safe. </p><p>Meanwhile, Camelot receives news of dragon attacks, and Arthur's promise to protect the Druids is put to the test. Arthur's mind is slowly changing, but when betrayal is revealed, can Arthur put aside his prejudices? Or will the destiny that Merlin and Mordred have been waiting for crumble?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Omnia Mutantur, Nihil Interit

**Author's Note:**

> The story takes place early in Season 5, following a divergence at the end of Season 4 and ignoring the three-year gap between seasons.

Mordred took a deep breath and raised his fist to the door, wincing as the sharp raps of his knuckles against the wood echoed in the quiet hall. 

The door was opened from the inside by Emrys ( _Merlin_ , he reminded himself for the upteenth time), who gave him a cursory glance before dropping his eyes to the floor and stepping back silently to allow him inside. As ever, Mordred wished that Merlin would look at him and see him, see how he had grown out of the anger and hatred of his youth, instead of regarding him with cool suspicion or ignoring him altogether. 

Tonight, however, he pushed regrets about Merlin aside as he entered the King’s chambers to see the King standing up from his desk chair to greet him. 

“Sir Mordred, good evening,” said the King, directing him to sit at the small table and motioning for Merlin to pour the wine.

“Good evening, sire,” Mordred responded, trying to ignore the feeling of _wrongness_ that always accompanied being served by Merlin. It was only piling up on his anxiety about being summoned by the King to his chambers late in the evening for an unknown reason. 

“Please, there’s no need for formality in such circumstances. You may call me Arthur.” Arthur slid into the chair across from him and relaxed into it, smiling, making the knots in Mordred’s gut loosen marginally. 

“Thank you, s-- er, Arthur.” Mordred cursed his awkwardness and swallowed a mouthful of wine without tasting it. Arthur only continued to smile into his own drink, but the awkwardness lingered as Merlin moved back to his task of polishing armor by the hearth and Mordred took turns staring into his goblet and letting his eyes roam over the chambers, feeling without seeing Merlin’s heavy protections spells that no doubt Arthur remained oblivious to. Mordred shivered involuntarily at the sheer power of them.

After a bit of small talk about how Mordred’s training was progressing, Arthur finally put down his goblet and looked at Mordred. Mordred sat up straighter as Arthur spoke, “I’m sure you’re wondering, Mordred, why I asked you to attend me this evening. There is a matter that has been brought to my attention several times in the past, and it is only now that I am beginning to realize its significance. You see, however,” he paused, contemplating Mordred, who strove to keep his gaze steady despite the thumping of his heart. “You see, it is a matter of some… delicacy. One that I cannot address openly, at least not yet. And one that I am hoping you could shed some light on. I would ask that whatever is said here this night remain between us, for now.” 

Arthur paused again, but continued to stare intently at Mordred, who, after some moments, muttered, “Of course. However I can be of service to you, Arthur, you may ask of me.” 

It seemed to be the correct response, for Arthur nodded and continued, “I am coming to you, Mordred, because of your background as a Druid. I wonder if you can tell me what you know of a sorcerer named Emrys.” 

There was a loud clang of metal against stone as Merlin dropped whatever piece of armor he was working on. Accustomed to clumsiness from his manservant, Arthur merely rolled his eyes, but that second of distraction was enough for Mordred to school his features into something he hoped was not reflecting the the shock or turmoil of his thoughts. 

It seemed his efforts were in vain, however, for Arthur merely cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You are familiar with the name, aren’t you, Mordred?” 

Mordred could feel the nervous energy rolling off of Merlin in waves, but he did not dare turn to look at him. What could he do? He was a Druid, and although his past with Emrys was complicated, he believed in the prophecies, in the kingdom that would be built by Emrys and the Once and Future King. He was also a Knight of Camelot, and had sworn an oath of fealty to Arthur. Lying to his King would be treason; giving away Merlin’s secret would be unforgivable. 

“Well?” Mordred despaired, in the back of his mind, that for a man who remained in the dark about his closest companion’s magic after ten years, Arthur was surprisingly perceptive. Mordred returned his gaze to his goblet. 

“There are Druid legends about a sorcerer named Emrys, it’s true.” 

When Mordred did not continue, Arthur placed his hands on the table and leaned forward. “And…? What do they say?”

“The legends say -- and truly, they’re only legends, hundreds of years old, really -- they say that Emrys will bring peace to the land.” 

“Peace? How?” Arthur did not seem skeptical, only interested, so Mordred continued as ambivalently as he could.

“Emrys, together with the Once and Future King, will unite the land of Albion under one banner, and--” Mordred forced himself to say the next part-- “and magic will be free again.” He looked up to see Arthur’s reaction. Far from looking horrified, as his father might have been, Arthur merely nodded slowly, a small frown on his face as if considering, or trying to remember something. 

“Do you...believe these legends? Having been raised by the Druids, as you were?” Maybe it was because Arthur was no longer staring at Mordred, but at the patterns of the grain of the wooden table, that Mordred found the confidence to answer, “I do, my lord.” He put as much faith and respect into the title as he could convey in speech, and Arthur seemed to have picked up on it, for he looked up to meet Mordred’s gaze. Forcing himself not to flinch or look away, Mordred held it, and watched as Arthur nodded again to something unsaid and turned to the fire. 

“Thank you, Sir Mordred, for the information you have given me. I have much to consider.” 

Relieved that he had not been forced to divulge more than he could, Mordred took that as his cue to leave. He stood up and crossed the room to the door. As he placed his hand on the doorknob, however, Arthur called to him. 

“Mordred? Do you know his identity? Do you know Emrys?” 

Mordred turned slowly back to face the room. His gaze darted to Merlin, sitting on the floor, staring determinedly at the armor in his hands. He had ceased focusing on his task the moment Emrys was mentioned, and Mordred could tell by his white-knuckled grip just how anxious he was. Mordred answered the only way he could. “Emrys will make himself known when the time is right.” 

Arthur frowned again, but shook his head, as if to shake his thoughts into place. He looked up and smiled. “Good night, Sir Mordred.” 

“Good night, sire.” 

Mordred leaned against the closed door for a moment, exhaling heavily. He did not know why Arthur had decided to seek out Emrys now, or what his intentions were toward him. He prayed that, whatever it was, Merlin would find a way to continue his destiny. For all their sakes. 

___

 _Emrys will make himself known when the time is right._ But when would that be? Was that Mordred’s way of telling him he should leave it alone until Emrys revealed himself? Another thought nagged at the back of his mind. There was something familiar that Mordred had said tonight. Not about Emrys, that was mostly new information, but about the King. What had he called him? _The Once and Future King…_ Where had he heard that before? 

Arthur was dragged from his thoughts by Merlin’s quiet nudging, and looked around the room to notice that nearly all the candles had been put out, his spotless armor was piled neatly on the chest, and Merlin had his sleep shirt draped over one shoulder and was holding out his hands to undo the laces on Arthur’s tunic. He let himself be pushed and prodded from his chair onto the edge of his bed. 

Evenings were normally quite enjoyable -- he and Merlin would spend time together in his chambers working on their respective duties, chatting occasionally, and when the time to get dressed for bed came, Merlin would smile at Arthur in that fond way of his and his touches would linger just a moment shy of improper, and Arthur’s gut would clench and his knees would wobble and he would clasp his hands under the coverlet to keep from reaching out, bite his tongue to keep from asking Merlin to stay. 

Tonight was different (of course, because Mordred had been here, and Arthur could not have helped but notice the wariness Merlin kept toward the boy, all these months after Mordred’s knighthood), and Arthur watched with some regret as Merlin prepared him for bed with the swift efficiency that he had mastered years ago and then promptly ignored in favor of irritating Arthur with his supposed ineptitude. They both knew that the whole “worst manservant” act was just that -- an act -- and in the past years it had gone from an annoyance to an endearance. 

Was it because Arthur had not notified Merlin that he had asked Mordred to come? Arthur knew better than to ask Merlin what was wrong. Moments of moroseness were not foreign to Merlin, and although Arthur wished that Merlin would trust him enough to share, he knew it could not be. It was the same reason he could not ask him to stay: the boundary between King and servant was too wide, too solid. Arthur knew that if it were serious, Merlin would come to him. Otherwise, he had to trust Merlin to keep his own counsel. 

“Will there be anything else, sire?” His voice was clipped, his eyes staring past him, to some point over his shoulder, his hands clasped behind him in the picture of servitude. 

Arthur felt an irrational frustration well up in him, but he managed to get out a civil, “No, you may go,” before falling back against his pillow and turning away.

He heard Merlin’s quiet footsteps pause at the door, and then a faint, “Good night, Arthur,” before the door opened and closed. Arthur stared into the darkness of his room, thoughts of Merlin and Mordred and Emrys whirling about his head, keeping sleep at bay. 

___

Merlin flopped down onto his small bed, face first, clothes on, panting heavily. He had run all the way from Arthur’s chambers to his own in hopes that he would be able to relieve some of the nervous energy that had been coursing through him since Arthur’s unexpected conversation with Mordred. 

_Hang it all!_ Merlin thought, bitter and exasperated. Damn Arthur, of course he would have been paying attention to Morgana’s every word, mulling it over in secret for _months_ without saying anything. _Not even Emrys can save you now._ Damn Morgana. 

And Mordred. Merlin did not even want to consider how disastrously this night could have gone, if Mordred had told Arthur the truth. Well, the whole truth -- Merlin had to give the boy some credit for telling nothing but the truth but managing to keep anything of significance in check. Merlin knew something about that skill. He cringed at the thought -- while Arthur was none the wiser, it was difficult enough for Merlin to keep his own secret. But for Arthur to start asking questions about Emrys? And asking Mordred, who knew the truth? Merlin knew it was only a matter of time before Arthur began asking questions that could not be skirted around with some vague references to prophecy. And he knew that he could not ask Mordred to break his oath and lie to his King for him. 

He would have to tell Arthur. 

___

 

A week later, Arthur had not mentioned Emrys again, and Merlin had lost nearly all of his resolve to bring it up. They had gone back to normal as if that evening with Mordred had never happened, and Merlin remembered why it was that Arthur had been king for years, had not executed a sorcerer in ages, had even sworn to treat with the Druids peacefully, and still Merlin had not revealed his secret. 

He had stopped fearing for his life at Arthur’s hands long ago, and these days, he did not even think he would be banished. No, it was not physical separation from Arthur that he dreaded -- it was the emotional distance, the loss of trust and companionship and those tender moments between them that were becoming more frequent and harder to let go of, these were the root of his anxiety, the bonds holding them together that could be irreparably severed if all of Merlin’s deceit came to light. He felt like a coward. But he could not bring himself to give it up. Not yet.

On this day, a week later, Merlin was taking out his angst on herbs for Gaius when a soft knock interrupted. 

“Enter,” he called. He set aside his mortar and pestle and was wiping his hands on a cloth when the door opened and Mordred appeared. The young knight was wearing his mail, and his dark curls were stuck to his forehead with sweat, no doubt coming straight from training. He hesitated in the doorway, and although Merlin was surprised -- and, as always, wary -- to see him, he motioned for him to come in. As Mordred closed the door behind him, Merlin noticed he was favoring his left arm.

“What can I do for you, Sir Mordred?” Merlin asked as he indicated for Mordred to take a seat on the bench across from where he had just been working. 

Mordred’s brow furrowed, as if he were about to object to the title from Merlin, but thought better of it and motioned to his left shoulder. 

“Still learning to keep my shield up, I suppose. I took a hit...nothing serious, just bruised...my lord Arthur sent me here, thought Gaius could give me a salve for it...but if, if he’s not here, I could come back--” 

Merlin held up a hand to cut Mordred’s rambling off. “Gaius is in the Lower Town this morning. But, if you’ll allow it, I could take a look.” 

Mordred nodded, and Merlin helped him with his mail. If either of them noticed that it was the first time Merlin had touched Mordred since he had helped him as a child, neither of them said anything, but Merlin felt himself lose some of his hostility as he peeled off Mordred’s layers to find him vulnerable and, yes, very bruised. Looking at him clench his jaw against the pain as Merlin poked different spots on the bruise, Merlin was reminded of just how young he was, and he gentled. 

“It does feel as if it’s just bruised, nothing broken or torn, which is good news. I can give you some salve to help with the pain, and you should take it easy for a few days, but it should heal in no time.” Merlin went to the shelf to grab a jar. Mordred held out his hand for it, but Merlin simply opened it, dipped his fingers in, and, straddling the bench beside Mordred, began to rub the salve into his bare shoulder. He could feel Mordred stiffen in surprise, but eventually he relaxed into Merlin’s sure touch. 

The silence between them was natural, almost comfortable, when Mordred said quietly, “Merlin, er...about the other night. With the King, you know…” He trailed off, and Merlin sighed. 

“You were put into an impossible position, Mordred. I know that. And I know that it is wrong of me to expect such loyalty from you, although I am in your debt because of it.” 

“What? No!” Mordred turned to face him, speaking quietly but fervently. “Em-- _Merlin_ , my loyalty will always lie with you. Not just because I am a Druid, but because I believe in what you will accomplish. There is no debt -- I am honored to be of service to you, in any way I can be, and if that means keeping your secret, then I will do so gladly.” 

Merlin was taken aback. He looked away from Mordred’s eyes and continued to massage his shoulder. “You would lie to your King? After you swore an oath of fealty?” Merlin knew it may have been careless to challenge Mordred’s declaration, but he had to know. If Mordred was willing to break his oath to Arthur, what would stop him from breaking this promise to Merlin?

Mordred, it seemed, was having similar thoughts, for when Merlin glanced back at him, his face was conflicted. Nevertheless, when he spoke, it was with resolve. “I swore an oath to Camelot. It is my belief that, in protecting you, I am ensuring Camelot’s future of peace. I don’t like lying to the King, of course not… But, for this cause, I will bear it.” 

Merlin held his gaze, and for a moment was reminded of the young, determined boy with flaming eyes, _I shall never forgive this, Emrys…_ But, looking now, Merlin could see that this was a different determination, that perhaps Mordred really had grown out of his hatred. Perhaps there really was no ulterior motive. Merlin could not forget his visions, but if he had learned anything from gazing at the crystals, it was that the future was not always set in stone. Perhaps, by keeping Mordred at arm’s length, he was only pushing him further towards the darkness. 

“Thank you, Mordred.” He smiled, and saw the boy’s eyes light up. “The Knights of Camelot are lucky to have your loyalty. And so am I.” 

___

“Merlin! Are you in-- oh,” Arthur had barged into Gaius’ chambers expecting to find his manservant lazing about. Instead, he found him tending to Mordred. He quashed the unexpected jealousy that flared beneath his ribs at the sight of Mordred, flushed, his torso bare under Merlin’s nimble fingers, a surprised and slightly flustered look replacing what had only moments before been a smile that Arthur had interrupted. 

Merlin, however, did not even glance in Arthur’s direction. He merely rolled his eyes and stood up, saying loudly enough to reach Arthur’s ears, “You would think a King would have the manners to at least knock, wouldn’t you, Sir Mordred?” When Merlin finally did look at him, his jealousy abated a bit at the private smirk Merlin sent him. For a second, Arthur forgot why he had been looking for him, his thoughts torn between Merlin’s strong forearms, exposed by sleeves rolled up past his elbows, long fingers slicked with salve… and the scene he had walked in on. It was not unusual for Merlin to tend to his knights’ wounds -- it had been Arthur himself who had sent Mordred to the physician’s chambers, knowing that the task would fall to Merlin if Gaius was not available -- but Arthur had been under the impression that Merlin disliked Mordred, for whatever reason. But Mordred had been smiling, and Merlin was teasing, and they had clearly just been very close…

Arthur was spared further consideration when his memory returned, and he addressed them seriously. “Sir Mordred, I am glad I could find you here. I will need you to dress yourself and ready your horse. Merlin, you as well. Pack for several nights. We leave within the hour.”

Mordred matched Arthur’s gravity and grabbed up his shirt, gambeson, and hauberk, redressing quickly despite what Arthur could see was a nasty bruise on his shoulder. Merlin, true to form, had not moved, only stared at Arthur questioningly. “Where are we going?”

With a huff of exasperation, Arthur forestalled what could easily be hours of nagging by explaining, “We’ve just received an urgent report from our patrols in the east. There is a large number of refugees heading in our direction from the Forest of Escetir. They’re…” He paused and looked at Mordred. “The refugees are Druids. The report is that their camps have been attacked by a great white beast. Sir Mordred, I ask that you would ride with us, and act as a sort of mediator between parties.” 

“Ar--Sire?” Merlin shot a quick look at Mordred that Arthur did not understand, but then caught his gaze and asked, “What are your plans for these refugees when we meet them?” 

“They are citizens of my kingdom, _Mer_ lin. They are under my protection.” 

Arthur pretended not to notice the look that was now shared between Merlin and Mordred as he turned to leave.

___

Not even the daunting prospect of meeting the Druids as a Knight of Camelot could dampen Mordred’s joy as they rode out. He and Merlin seemed to have reached some kind of understanding, and while they did not share the easy camaraderie that Merlin had with Gwaine or some of the other knights, Merlin no longer looked at him in fear or distrust, and Mordred had hopes for a friendship. It was lonely, being among friends with whom he could not share all of himself, and he ached for someone to share his magic with. He suspected Merlin did, too. 

He also felt honored to have been chosen to accompany the King and his closest knights: Leon, Gwaine, Elyan, and Percival joined them, assuaging Mordred’s fears that whatever intentions the King had towards the Druids were less than peaceful. These were the knights that were fast becoming his brothers, and he trusted each of them with his life and the lives of the Druids. 

It was almost dusk, about the time when they would normally set up camp for the night, when Arthur held up a hand to halt their progress. As they watched, three cloaked figures seemed to materialize out of the trees before them. 

Arthur moved his hand to the hilt of his sword hanging from his saddle, but did not draw it. “Who goes there?”

The foremost cloaked figure drew their hood, revealing an older woman with silver hair, crow’s feet around her eyes, and a triskelion tattooed across the side of her neck that immediately marked her as a Druid. Mordred imagined it took some effort, but Arthur released his sword hilt. 

“Arthur Pendragon. My name is Rhiannon. Do you come in peace?”

“I do. We heard reports of displaced Druids seeking refuge and care for wounded, and we came to assist. Sir Mordred,” he turned and motioned for Mordred to come forward, and Mordred forced himself to swallow his nerves and do his duty, “was once a Druid, and is now one of my finest Knights. He can assure you that, if you mean us no harm, we will offer our aid to any who require it.” 

His chest swelling with pride at Arthur’s praise, Mordred reached out to the woman’s mind. _Good evening, grandmother,_ he greeted, using the generic term of respect for elderly Druid women. _What King Arthur says is true. We are here to help._ Out loud, he asked, “Are there others in your party, good woman?”

“Our camp is but a half mile away. We have several families traveling with us -- thankfully, no wounded, but I know of many similar camps in the area who did not fare so well, and are similarly traveling to the relative safety of the city walls. But please, join our camp for the evening. We would be happy for the company.” To Mordred, however, she asked, _You bring Emrys?_

He saw Merlin’s head jerk up out of the corner of his eye and knew that the question had been projected loud enough for him to hear. Mordred responded to both, _He does not come as Emrys now, but as servant to the King. The King does not know of his true identity, grandmother. Please, let no one in your party reveal him._

The old woman looked more amused than surprised at this request. _Of course. Any request of Emrys will be honored._ Mordred could tell that this made Merlin uncomfortable, but Merlin merely gave a subtle nod. When Mordred looked back at the King, it was to see Arthur looking at him with a puzzled frown, as if he were aware that there was something else going on, but did not know what. Mordred gave a small smile and said, “My lord, shall we accompany them?”

“Yes, of course.” He turned to the woman. “We thank you for your hospitality, Rhiannon.” The Knights and Merlin dismounted and led their horses after the woman and her two hooded companions. 

But for Merlin’s _Thank you_ projected to his mind, the journey was short and silent.

As they walked to the camp, the Knights were silent as they listened to Arthur question Rhiannon about the nature of the attacks. The Druids claimed the beast was, in fact, a dragon. Arthur looked skeptical at this, and Mordred knew it was because he had been credited with slaying the last dragon, and the last Dragonlord had made no mention of a younger one. If Mordred had not looked over in time to see Merlin blanch, he might have shared such skepticism. As it was, all he could do now was wait for a chance to question Merlin about it alone. 

They heard the sounds of the camp before they saw the flickering shadows cast by the campfires. The sounds diminished as they approached, and when they finally entered the clearing where a few tents had been set up in a ring, it was to find the face of every man, woman, and child turned in their direction, waiting. Mordred understood that Rhiannon had likely sent word to their minds of their approach, but Arthur and some of the other knights, who had no such understanding, seemed cautious and uncomfortable under the scrutiny. 

Making eye contact with and accepting a nod from Rhiannon, Mordred stepped forward and addressed the Druids. “Greetings, friends. I am Sir Mordred, a Knight of Camelot. I travel here in the company of King Arthur, and we come in peace, hearing of the recent attacks on your camps and seeking to offer our aid.” _We mean you no harm_ , he repeated in mindspeak, and this seemed to settle any nerves more than his words had, for they returned to their previous tasks. Rhiannon must have also informed them of Emrys’ presence and his request, for besides a few lingering, curious stares in his direction, he was not received with the same honor that he might have been had he shown up alone. 

Mordred felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and turned to see his King looking at him. Arthur said nothing, but gave him a proud, grateful nod that warmed Mordred’s heart, before turning to Rhiannon as she said, “This way, please.” They walked around the border of the small camp toward a space that had not been claimed by any tent. “Your men are welcome to set up here, and they will find supper at any campfire they join. We will set up a spare tent for you, King Arthur.”

“I thank you again, Rhiannon. If it is no trouble, I would speak with you further about these dragon attacks. If my men are to face the beast tomorrow, we must have as much information as possible.” 

“Certainly, King Arthur. If you will come with me.” Rhiannon began walking toward another tent. Arthur motioned for the Knights to take care of the horses and set up camp, and with a final, longing look at his sword in its sheath on his horse, he turned to follow Rhiannon. 

Merlin made to accompany him, but Arthur waved him off. Merlin pursed his lips as he watched Arthur walking off alone, but when he saw Mordred watching, he gave him a shy smile and joined him. 

___

Arthur entered Rhiannon’s tent with wariness, but as she lit a small lamp, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. A bedroll with thick, woolen blankets; some bags that looked as if they been hastily packed; two round sections of log that served as seats. Arthur sat on the one that Rhiannon indicated, and she sat across, facing him. 

“Now, about this dragon--”

“King Arthur, while I appreciate how important it is for your men to be prepared, I have told you everything we know about this beast. I think you know this. I think, perhaps, you wish to speak to me about another matter.” 

Arthur felt affronted at having been interrupted and his motives challenged, but when he could not deny what the woman had said, his defensiveness fled as he exhaled heavily. 

“It is true. There is… something I wish to speak about. Ask about. A legend, told by the Druids.” Arthur did not know why he felt so awkward asking this woman for information. It could be the way she was scrutinizing him, as if she already knew what he wished to ask. It could be that he was unsure if he wanted the Druids to know that he was seeking this information. Or, if he was being honest with himself, it could be that he was still unsure if he even wanted this information at all. After all, he had lived so many years in blissful ignorance -- did this mystery really have to be solved? But no, it would be unfair to everyone involved if things were to continue as they had. And the thought would always be lurking in the back of his mind. Better to know the truth, even if he feared the consequences of that knowledge. 

“I wish to know more about the sorcerer named Emrys.” 

The Druid woman did not look in the least bit surprised -- in fact, Arthur suspected that she had already surmised his interest. 

“It is only natural that you should seek out Emrys, King Arthur. After all, he is the other half to your whole.” Arthur raised his eyebrows at that. A secret protector? He had gathered as much after Morgana’s mysterious threat. A magical adviser? Mordred seemed to think so, or had at least relayed that bit of the legend. But the other half to his whole? That seemed strangely intimate to Arthur, and he uncomfortable with the thought of being so close to anyone with that kind of power. “However,” Rhiannon continued, “I’m afraid that I cannot help you.” 

Arthur frowned. “Cannot, or will not?” He did not mean to sound petulant, but she smirked and raised an eyebrow to rival Gaius’, and Arthur felt again like a child not being automatically given the answers by his tutors. 

“Will not, King Arthur. The destiny of Emrys and the Once and Future King is complicated and beautiful. But it cannot be forced to come to pass. Emrys will reveal himself to you when the time is right. Until then, you must be patient.” 

Arthur worked to hide his frustration. _When the time is right_. Had those not been the same words Mordred had spoken to him? And that title, _Once and Future King_. It nagged on him, some long-forgotten memory. Someone had called him this before, years ago. He was sure of it. But who? 

He stood, thanking Rhiannon, and turned to leave.

“King Arthur.” He turned back around to find her looking at him intensely. “There is one request I make of you, in regards to Emrys. When the right time comes… Listen.” 

___

It was only after the horses had been tended to and their camp set up that Merlin found a quiet moment to speak with Mordred without fear of being overheard. Had it only been earlier this day that they had come to a sort of understanding? It was a testament to how much Merlin had been aching to overcome his distrust and find a friend in Mordred that he was now eager for his company after only a short conversation. He had never realized just how lonely he had been since Lancelot’s death. The Knights unofficially included him in their brotherhood, Gwaine was loyal to a fault and their bond was strong, and Arthur, of course, was...Arthur. But he had not been able to share his true self with any of them. It could be different with Mordred. 

“So… a dragon?” Mordred said without preamble, flopping down onto a log beside Merlin at their camp’s fire. The other Knights had gone off, wearily at first but inspired by Gwaine’s infectious extroversion, to mingle with the Druids at other fires around the camp. Arthur was still in conference with Rhiannon, no doubt pestering her with endless questions about the beast’s attacks. Merlin and Mordred were alone.

Merlin groaned in response to Mordred’s question, pressing his forehead into his palms. 

“Is it possible? I thought Arthur had killed the last dragon.” 

Merlin hesitated only a second before responding. _In for a penny_ , he supposed. “It’s possible. In fact, it’s likely. There’s a young white dragon, only a baby, really, who was _supposed_ to be under supervision, as she can be quite a nuisance, but…”

Merlin heard Mordred huff out a quiet chuckle, and turned to look at him. “What is it?” 

“You speak as if you know this dragon.” 

“Well…” _In for a pound_. “I do. Until her attacks, I had assumed that I was the only human who knew her. You see, it was I who called her forth from the egg.” 

“Called her…? But, that would mean…” Merlin watched as Mordred made the connection, smiling despite himself at Mordred’s incredulous expression. “You certainly don’t do anything by halves, do you, Emrys?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. But then he turned more serious as he explained, “The last Dragonlord, Balinor. He...he was my father.” It still stung a bit, the bitter memory of what could have been, but Merlin was proud that his voice stayed steady. 

When he offered no more, Mordred seemed to notice his reticence, for he asked no questions. He said simply, “I am sorry for your loss, Merlin. It is a painful thing, to lose a father.” Merlin smiled sadly at Mordred, remembering that his father had been captured and executed all those years ago, when Merlin had first met Mordred as a wounded child. 

They sat in comfortable silence for a few more moments, staring into the flames, before Mordred broke it to ask, “Why do you think the dragon is attacking the Druid camps?” 

Merlin frowned, having been asking himself the same question and finding no explanation. “I’m not sure,” he replied honestly. “Dragons prefer to keep to themselves and their own kind. It makes no sense that Aithusa would deliberately attack peaceful settlements. Unless…”

“Unless?” 

“Unless there was something, or someone, influencing the dragon’s attacks.” 

“You think the Druids provoked the dragon?”

Merlin shook his head. “No. Rather, I fear that someone with something to gain from intimidating the Druids may have somehow got Aithusa under their control.”

Mordred caught Merlin’s train of thought right away. “You think Morgana is responsible?” Merlin didn’t answer, but the look shared between them affirmed it. They were quiet for a moment more. Mordred looked trouble at the thought of Morgana, and Merlin remembered vividly the look of betrayal on Morgana’s face as Mordred stabbed her. He shook off those morbid thoughts. Mordred spoke again.

“What will you do when we face it? Could you call it off?” 

Merlin grimaced. “I have the capability, yes. The issue is more about opportunity. A Dragonlord’s command is not exactly...subtle.” He shifted on his seat. “I will need to be out of earshot of the knights.” 

“And if we face Morgana?”

He sighed. “We’ve faced her before, and we’ve been triumphant.” 

“Thanks to you.” 

“And you,” Merlin reminded him. Mordred looked away, but when he turned back, his face wore the same resolve that Merlin was becoming accustomed to seeing on him. 

“We’ll defeat her.” 

Merlin couldn’t help smiling at Mordred’s determined optimism, and Mordred grinned back. 

At that moment, Merlin noticed Arthur returning from Rhiannon’s tent. Merlin could not quite pinpoint the expression on Arthur’s face, but when he noticed that Merlin had spotted him, he adopted his usual haughty smirk as he approached. 

“Sitting about, Merlin? Perhaps you think supper will materialize before me? Honestly,” he addressed Mordred, “what am I even paying him for?”

Merlin muttered about where Arthur could put his gold instead, and as Mordred guffawed and Arthur and gave him a mock-scandalized look, he scampered off to collect Arthur’s supper from the cooking fire.

“Oh, and Merlin?” Arthur called after him. “Gather the Knights. If we’re to face this beast, we’ll need a plan.” 

___

Arthur sat with his back to the camp, rhythmically stroking his sword with a whetstone, listening to the sounds of the Knights and the Druids settling into sleep. He was confident that his Knights had come up with a variety of plans and backup plans and offensive and defensive strategies for their impending confrontation with the dragon. If that’s even what it was. Arthur was still skeptical, but a part of him also hoped that it was, indeed, a dragon. After all, he had already slain one of those great beasts, had he not? They would know what to expect better than if it was some unknown beast. And from the Druids’ reports of its size, he assumed it must be young. 

No, it was not the dragon that weighed heavily on his thoughts this evening as he sat for the first watch. It was Emrys. Or, rather, it was everything he did not know about Emrys. Every piece he collected only seemed to spawn a dozen more mysteries. What was this destiny of which Rhiannon had spoken? Was it only to unite Albion -- no small task, that -- as Mordred had said? _The other half of his whole._ Or was there more to it? How long had Emrys been protecting him from the shadows? _Not even Emrys can save you now._ And yet, Morgana’s magic had not worked, and she had fled. Had that been the work of Emrys? Why did he continue to hide? 

Magic. Wasn’t that what Mordred had said? Arthur sighed to himself. He did not know what to do about magic. Everything he had been taught was of the evils of magic, and he had seen very little otherwise, as vengeful sorcerers attacked at every turn and Morgana spread her plague across the land. 

But the Druids? He had seen no magic this evening, and suspected that Rhiannon had seen to that, though how the Druids all seemed to be on the same wavelength always was beyond him. It was uncanny. But their magic, he knew it could be used for good. Had it not healed Leon? 

And Emrys. His protector, it would seem. Arthur felt uncomfortable at the thought that he needed protection -- he was the finest warrior in the five kingdoms, he could take care of himself -- but more uncomfortable at the thought of all the perils and foes that had not made themselves known to him, on account of Emrys dealing with them behind the scenes. This was a power to be feared, no doubt. But was it evil? He could not answer that. 

Soft footfalls approached his back, but he did not turn. He knew the pattern of Merlin’s gait well enough by now. 

“Shouldn’t you be asleep? I’ll not listen to you complaining you’re tired all day tomorrow.” 

Merlin elbowed him in the side as he made himself comfortable on the log next to Arthur. “Thought you might like the company. Pull you out of your brooding.”

“I am not brooding.” 

“You are.” 

Arthur looked up from his whetstone to see Merlin’s eyes twinkling with mirth. He rolled his eyes and sighed, setting aside his sword. “All right. Maybe I am.” 

Merlin seemed surprised at his honesty, but he had too many thoughts rolling around in his head to keep to himself. He often sought Merlin’s council at home in his chambers in the evening -- why should he not now, with only the two of them awake? Oh, he knew the members of council and court would scoff at the advice of a servant, but Arthur had long ago acknowledged that there was more to Merlin than someone to polish his armor and muck out his stables. He was his closest friend. It was never spoken aloud, but they both knew it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Merlin prompted. 

Arthur sighed again, propping his elbows on his knees and his chin on his interlaced fingers. “Merlin, what do you think of magic?” He felt Merlin stiffen next to him, and realized he had never asked this question of him, had no idea how he would respond. How had this never come up? He supposed it was because, until recently, he had not challenged his views on the subject, and had not welcomed any others to do so. 

Merlin was quiet for long enough that Arthur thought he would not respond, but when he looked over, Merlin was staring into the night-dark trees, his brow furrowed as if seriously contemplating his response. 

“Come now Merlin, it’s not as if I asked you to ponder the mysteries of life and death,” Arthur elbowed him as he had done earlier, and felt his heart flutter at Merlin’s responding scowling smile. “Is it not a simple question? What do you think of magic?” 

“Why do you ask?”

Arthur resigned himself to not getting a more telling response from Merlin. “I’ve been thinking, lately.” 

“Don’t injure yourself.” 

Arthur laughed and wrapped an arm around Merlin’s neck, bringing him close to rub his knuckles against his scalp despite Merlin’s barely-suppressed squawks. He let him go, but Merlin did not immediately sit up, instead leaning against his side, his head a comfortable, intimate weight on Arthur’s shoulder. His thoughts suddenly elsewhere, Arthur forced himself to continue, “I’ve been thinking, lately, that perhaps… perhaps magic is neither good nor evil. Perhaps its use depends on the user.” He did not know where the words came from, as he had not been able to articulate these thoughts to himself until this moment, but they felt right on his tongue. 

To his dismay, Merlin shifted away from him, but he did not go far, only far enough to turn his head to look directly into Arthur’s eyes. He could still feel the heat coming from Merlin’s body, could still see the faint flush that painted his cheeks after their tussle, could see the way the dying firelight danced across his irises and cast shadows off the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

“Do you mean that?” Arthur did not understand the intensity in Merlin’s eyes, but he could feel the breath of his words ghost across his own lips, and could feel the heat rising in his own cheeks. He watched Merlin’s tongue dart out to wet his lips, and he swallowed hard, overwhelmed by the desire to close the distance between them and the duty, quiet but insistent in the back of his mind, that was keeping him from going to a place with Merlin from where there would be no going back. 

“Well?” One side of Merlin’s mouth quirked into a smile, and Arthur realized with some embarrassment that he had not answered Merlin’s question.

“I do. Mean that. About. About magic. I think.” 

Merlin’s face split into a real grin, but Arthur noticed there was a hint of something darker -- sadness? regret? -- in his eyes. Before he could fathom it out, it was gone, leaving him wondering if he had imagined it. 

“Arthur. I think… I _know_ you’re right. These people--” he waved a hand towards the Druids asleep in their tents but did not look away from Arthur’s gaze “--live with magic as naturally as with the trees and the animals in the forest. How could that be so evil?”

Arthur supposed the question was asked rhetorically, but he felt compelled to answer anyway, “I don’t know.” Merlin’s intensity melted into tenderness. Before Arthur could comprehend his actions, Merlin leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against his lips. 

He pulled back as suddenly as he had leaned in, smiling shyly. Arthur could not bring himself to form a coherent response. It seemed Merlin understood, however, for his smile did not falter. “Good night, Arthur.” 

Arthur watched him walk back and settle down on his bedroll, all thoughts of Emrys and dragons gone from his mind.

“Good night, Merlin.”

___

Mordred was rudely awoken at dawn by shouts of alarm. He had jumped out of his bedroll and taken up his sword before he was fully conscious of his surroundings, noticing that a few of the Druids were exiting their tents and staring at the skies. When Mordred followed their gazes, he became instantly alert at the sight that met him: a dragon, only just larger than the size of a horse, its scales a blinding white, circling overhead. 

By the time the dragon touched down in the center of camp, all of the Druids were awake and sending their children and elders to the relative safety of the trees, the abled adults risking the dragon’s fire to grab what few belongings they had before they joined their families. After a moment of awe -- most of the Knights had never seen a dragon, Mordred included, and the snowy white scales of this one were truly breathtaking -- the Knights had formed a defensive line that spread out to surround the beast once it was on the ground. Their shields were up and they were wielding spears, watchful of both its fiery breath and its sweeping wings and tail, watching and waiting for an opportunity to close in.

Even if Merlin had not mentioned that the dragon was still a baby, Mordred could tell that it had not fully developed. Not only was it smaller than the great dragons of legend, but it seemed easily distracted, a bit uncoordinated, and it seemed unable to sustain the flame of its breath for very long. Mordred knew that Arthur was drawing similar conclusions, and he felt a pang of worry. Would they be forced to kill the dragon before Merlin could call it away? He had seen Merlin upon waking, but he had lost track of him in the chaos of the dragon’s descent, and could only hope that he had managed to move to a position where he could see the goings on but would not be overheard. 

He could not worry about that now, though, for Arthur had apparently found an opening, and lunged forward with his spear. The thrust was sure, but for all the dragon’s youth, its scales must have hardened into the strength of armor, for instead of penetrating the dragon’s shoulder, it glanced off, throwing Arthur off-balance. The dragon let out a roar, and Arthur rolled away just in time to avoid being roasted. 

Gwaine, who had standing next to Arthur in the circle and had rushed in to distract or help, was not so agile, and Mordred watched helpless as he was caught by the beast’s flailing tail and was thrown back to collapse in a heap on the ground. 

The dragon spread its wings and gave a powerful downward thrust, lifting itself into the air and forcing the Knights to steady themselves against the sudden rush of air. Had Merlin been able to call it off? Mordred could see Arthur’s frustration that the beast would be escaping alive. However, all of their attentions were called to the space below where the dragon was now hovering. The initial wind blast that came with the dragon’s flapping wings did not diminish, but picked up, swirling around a point in the air beneath the dragon in which a shape was quickly forming. In an instant, the outline of the shape solidified, and the winds ceased, revealing the figure that had been plaguing Mordred’s dreams and nightmares for years: Morgana.

Like the other Knights, Mordred’s attention was unfortunately caught between the sorceress and the dragon, but it appeared that Arthur had eyes for only his sister. His initial shock had hardened into a cold resolve, and he hefted his sword.

“Well met, brother. I admit, I am surprised to see you here, among Druids. Unless you were here to slaughter them?” Morgana’s voice rang out around the clearing, and Mordred knew that the Druids, who had not gone far into the trees, could hear as clearly as he could. 

Arthur growled. “You speak of slaughter, Morgana? It was not I who sent a dragon to their camps.” 

“Oh brother,” Morgana chuckled. “There have been no deaths. I do not mindlessly kill those with magic simply for the powers they were born into. Aithusa here was not for murder, but for... _persuasion_.” 

Morgana’s back was to Mordred, but he could see in his mind’s eye the cruel smirk Morgana would be wearing as she spoke of intimidating the Druids into going along with whatever sinister plot she was developing now. 

“These Druids are peaceful people. They have the protection of Camelot. Leave now, Morgana, and take your dragon with you.” Arthur had to know that his olive branch would not be well received, for when Morgana hissed in response, he simply readjusted his grip on his sword hilt.

“So be it.” 

The Knights began to circle again, regarding her as they had the dragon, searching for an opening. Morgana circled with them, keeping her eyes locked on Arthur. But despite her gaze, her attention was not undivided, for when Elyan braved an attack from behind, he was thrown back to smack violently against a tree with barely a flick of Morgana’s wrist. 

“All your precious Knights are rather tiresome, wouldn’t you say, Arthur? This is between you and me. I think we can do without their interference.” With another wave of her hand, Mordred suddenly found himself stuck. His feet felt like the base of a tree, rooted unmoving into the ground; his arms like stiff branches, swaying in the breeze but no longer under his control; his lips unable to form into words. He could see that Percival and Leon were in similar binds, and with Gwaine and Elyan still down and out, it left Arthur alone to face Morgana. 

_Merlin! Where are you?_ Mordred called out in his mind, but received no response. Arthur, realizing that his Knights were unavailable to help him, put on a brave face, but he had to know that he was no match for Morgana’s power. 

Morgana knew this too. “What an unexpected gift today brings, that I set out to gain an ally and instead find myself defeating my most hated enemy.” A great, rapidly-growing ball of fire formed between her hands. Mordred cried out _MERLIN!_ in a last desperate effort as Morgana launched the fireball, now the size of a child, at Arthur’s shield. 

___

The fireball dissolved before impact. From behind him, Merlin watched as Arthur, who had braced himself for the worst, peered out around his shield to see a confused and murderous Morgana. 

“What?! _How?!_ You--” She broke off as she spotted Merlin stepping forward into the clearing, hand still held in front of him from when he had cast the spell. He marched right past Arthur, not looking at his face, to place himself firmly in front of him, facing Morgana.

“You!” Merlin had never seen such fury in Morgana’s eyes. This time, it was tainted with the same shocked betrayal that she had looked upon him with as she lay dying in his arms, poisoned from the water he had offered her. 

Merlin said nothing. 

“You think your tricks can stop me? I am a High Priestess of the Triple Goddess!” She shot a spell at him, which he deflected easily. Enraged, she flung spell after spell, all of which were absorbed into the power shield that Merlin now conjured to protect himself and his King. He could tell that she was not used to exerting such effort, for she was tiring quickly. 

“How are you doing this?! How can you be so powerful?! _Who are you?!_ ” she shrieked at him.

 _“I am your doom, Morgana.”_

Understanding dawned on her face, and he could see real fear there beside the hatred. He used her distraction to thrust his shield forward, pushing it toward and through her and knocking her off of her feet. He then crouched down and placed both palms flat on the ground, sending a jolt of energy into the earth and calling it to do his bidding. 

The earth beneath Morgana’s newly-regained feet split, and vines and branches grew up and around her, tangling in her dress and groping at her limbs as they climbed. Merlin could see the panic seize her. In a final effort, she screamed, and fire erupted around her, burning the vines to ash. It might have consumed her as well, but the same winds which she had arrived on returned, and she vanished.

With the last of his energy, Merlin stood again and called out to Aithusa. His dragonlord voice bellowed out across the forest, commanding Aithusa to forsake Morgana and seek Kilgharrah. Aithusa roared in return before flying off. Spent, Merlin felt the last of the gold fade from his irises, and turned slowly to face Arthur and his fate. 

He felt the cold, sharp press of a sword against his throat.

___

For a moment after Morgana’s disappearance, Mordred remained rooted in place despite the release of the spell. Merlin’s magic was more powerful than even Mordred had ever seen. He had never doubted Emrys’ ability or his destiny, but to witness it… And now, hearing what he could only assume was a Dragonlord’s command, he was awestruck. It was why he had not noticed Arthur lift his sword until it was already at Merlin’s throat.

Before he could contemplate otherwise, he gripped his sword and rushed forward. Neither Arthur nor Merlin paid any heed to his approach -- he considered it a blessing, for he was able to grab the back of Merlin’s jacket, pull him away, and put himself in his place, sword raised against Arthur’s, all before either could react. 

Arthur had been looking at Merlin with an undisguised horror that did not leave his eyes as Mordred moved between them. 

“Move.” His voice was gravel, as if gone long unused. He did not meet Mordred’s eyes, but stared over his shoulder, transfixed on Merlin. 

Mordred held steady. “I cannot.” 

The sound of Mordred’s voice seemed to shake Arthur, for he looked at him then with the same hard stare he had given Morgana before her attack. “Sir Mordred. Bearing arms against your king is high treason. Punishable by death.” 

Mordred’s sword arm shook, but he would not lower it. “Sire, I cannot let you kill him. We-- we _need_ him. _You_ need him.” 

“ _I_ need…?” Mordred could see the exact moment Arthur deciphered his words, and cursed himself for it. 

“He’s Emrys.” It was not a question. Arthur did not lower his sword. 

“I am.” Mordred heard Merlin’s broken whisper, and tilted his head to glance back at him. Merlin looked as if Arthur had already driven his sword through his heart. He was pale and clearly exhausted from his battle with Morgana. He was devastated. He was resigned. 

He placed a hand on Mordred’s sword arm, forcing it down with surprising strength. “Go.” Mordred shook his head, he would not give up, he could not let Merlin throw himself upon Arthur’s mercy and his sword, but with a flash of Merlin’s eyes he felt himself being gently but insistently dragged away by invisible forces. 

“No! Merlin, don’t, you can’t--!” But Merlin was not listening to him. 

Arthur had been watching this scene with uncertainty, flinching when Merlin’s eyes flashed. Merlin turned to look at him then. Mordred could only watch as Merlin drew himself up to his full height and then kneeled deliberately before Arthur’s sword. 

“Why, Merlin?” Arthur sounded as broken now as Merlin had. 

“For you, Arthur. Always, for you.” 

Arthur faltered, expression pained. The sword fell from his hands. He turned his back on Merlin and stalked off into the forest. 

Merlin’s body sagged, all the fight gone, his forehead dropping toward the earth in front of him. Mordred’s heart broke as Merlin wrapped his arms around himself, trying and failing to hold back his sobs as his destiny walked away from him.

___

Arthur punched every tree he passed as he made his way further and further from the clearing.

In the back of his mind, he thought he should be grateful that the Druids who had fled the dragon before were not in this area, not around to gawk at his breakdown, but thoughts of the Druids only made him angrier.

He had been a fool. He had asked Mordred, asked Rhiannon, about Emrys, and received nothing but riddles in return. And all the while, they had watched on, no doubt laughing at his ignorance, as the one he sought turned out to be disguising himself as his closest companion. 

Merlin. Arthur’s gut twisted itself painfully as he remembered his eyes, glowing in the way that Arthur had been taught to associate with evil. It couldn’t be. Not Merlin. Not his Merlin.

His Merlin. Had it been just last night that Merlin had leaned in and kissed him? 

It was magic, Arthur remembered. He had just told Merlin that he did not believe that all magic was evil. And Merlin had kissed him. Because Merlin had magic. Merlin had saved them. With magic. 

And then Arthur had held a sword to his throat. 

_Here to slaughter them?_

Arthur shoved Morgana’s taunts out of his mind, but they were only replaced by Mordred.

_Magic will be free again._

Had Merlin only kissed him because he had finally reached his goal? Was that the only reason he had stuck around all these years?

Would he stay now? He had no reason to. Arthur had held a sword to his throat, after all. 

In his own defense, he thought bitterly, he had been caught quite off guard. Not only was his unassuming manservant a _sorcerer_ , but a _powerful_ one. _Emrys_. He had seen the fear in Morgana’s eyes as the ground opened up around her. 

_No wonder they tell legends about him._

How long had he been practicing magic? How had he kept this a secret for so long? And _why_?

_Because when I found out, I put a sword to his throat. That’s why._

He punched another tree. 

Damn Merlin. He had just knelt there, ready for Arthur’s sword. _For you, Arthur_. Arthur didn’t want to think about the tears that had been spilling down his cheeks. He never wanted to see Merlin like that again. _Always, for you._

His Merlin. A sorcerer. _Emrys_. His protector. His destiny. _The other half to his whole_. He should have known. Who else could complete him the way Merlin always had?

Had he just ruined it?

It came to him, then. The words that had been reverberating in his ears as if from another time. The words he could not place. _Once and Future King_. It had been Merlin who called him that. Years and years ago. Merlin had known, even then, about his great destiny, had borne the fear and hatred of Uther’s tyranny and the abuse and pride of a Prince who tried too hard to follow in his father’s footsteps, and all the while had kept his faith in Arthur when Arthur could not even keep it in himself.

He was angry, still so angry, but as his energy faded, he suspected that he was just as angry with himself as with Merlin. Perhaps more so. Angry that, in all their years together, Merlin had never been able to tell Arthur of his magic. Angry that he had been too thick and self-absorbed to ever notice it. Angry that he had been king for over a year and had made no progress on lifting the ban, even though he had been considering it for some time. And angry that a rash reaction may have cost him his dearest friend. 

He sat in the shade of a great tree and, for the first time since his father had died, felt his eyes well up with tears. 

___

When Merlin had stepped out of the trees with his hand raised and his eyes blazing, it was as if Leon had found some piece of a puzzle that had been missing for so long that he had stopped looking for it. Every mystery of the last ten years had been solved in that instant. 

Now, looking back, Leon could not believe he had never made the connection before. Of course Merlin had magic. 

The moment Morgana vanished and the spell trapping his body was released, he hesitated for only a moment before rushing to Elyan’s side. The decision was made for him when he saw Mordred rushing toward them. He was sure Arthur had not known about Merlin’s magic, and he was equally sure that there would be a confrontation now that the immediate danger of Morgana and the dragon had passed. There was no one Leon trusted more with Arthur than Merlin, and it was clear that Merlin could take care of himself. With Mordred between them, Leon had hopes that the revelation would be dealt with peacefully. 

Elyan was bleeding from a head wound where it had crashed against the tree. Leon was able to rouse him, but he seemed dazed, and Leon worried about a concussion. He looked over to where Percival had run to Gwaine. Leon could not hear any of their words, but Gwaine seemed alert, and was flailing his arms, seemingly pointing at something. Leon’s gaze darted in the direction of Gwaine’s attention. 

Merlin was on his knees. Arthur was holding his sword at his throat. And Mordred, whom Leon had trusted to mediate this dispute, seemed to be throwing all of his weight against an invisible force as he was dragged away from them. 

Leon’s heart jumped to his throat -- _don’t kill him don’t kill him for gods’ sakes Arthur don’t kill him_ \-- but before he or Percival could do much more than take in the sight before them, Arthur dropped his sword, turned, and marched into the trees. Merlin was still for a moment more before falling to the ground, while Mordred continued to struggle against his magical bonds. 

___

“Did you know?”

Percival had his arm around Gwaine’s waist, helping him walk back to what was left of their camp after the dragon’s attack. Besides some cracked ribs from where the dragon’s tail had walloped him, he seemed unhurt. He had fought against Percival’s restraint when he saw Merlin on his knees before Arthur’s sword, but when Arthur left, he seemed to take Gwaine’s adrenaline with him. Now, leaving Mordred to look after their friend, Percival took Gwaine away.

“Don’t talk. You’re injured.” 

“Bollocks.” Gwaine shoved at him as much as he could while still relying on his support. 

Percival sighed. “I did.”

“You did?” Gwaine seemed surprised. 

“Lancelot told me. When I first knew him, before we became knights. He spoke of his magical friend who was protecting the Prince of Camelot. Who else could it have been?”

“Wait, he told _Lancelot_?” Percival could hear Gwaine’s unspoken _But not me?_

“He didn’t tell him. Lancelot found out when they defeated the griffin.” 

“Oh.” 

Gwaine was silent after that, so Percival prompted, “I take it you didn’t know?”

“No, I did. But he didn’t tell me.”

“I wouldn’t take it personally, Gwaine. He didn’t even tell Arthur.” Percival looked over to see Gwaine’s features darken.

“No wonder he didn’t tell him. That bastard nearly ran him through! When he gets back from sulking, I’m gonna…” He trailed off, no doubt running through a dozen scenarios in his mind of paying Arthur back for nearly killing his friend. Percival was unconcerned. Even as Merlin knelt, Percival knew that Arthur would never kill him, just as he knew that for all of Gwaine’s bluster, he would not harm the King. Percival had faith that everything would turn out fine. 

___

“Merlin. Merlin, please. Let me go. Merlin. Merlin. _Merlin_.” Mordred had ceased his struggles when Arthur had walked away, but he could still feel the magic binding him, and was now desperately trying to get the attention of his friend. 

Merlin was no longer sobbing. He had rolled to curl up on his side, eyes wide and unseeing as tears continued to fall quietly from them. At last, he seemed to hear Mordred’s pleas, for his eyes flashed and the binds fell away. 

Mordred approached him slowly, as if approaching a wild animal. He knelt by his side. “Merlin. We should get up, yeah? We should join the knights at the camp. We should--”

“I’ve ruined everything.” Merlin’s voice was raw, and he spoke as if he had not heard a word Mordred had said. Mordred reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.

“No! Merlin, no, everything is not ruined. It will work out.” 

“He hates me. Ar--” he choked back a sob-- “Arthur h-hates me.”

Damn Arthur. “No, Merlin, he… he was just surprised.” It sounded so fake to his own ears that he cringed, but Merlin seemed not to even hear him.

“I’ve ruined everything,” he repeated.

“Merlin,” Mordred tried again with a different tactic, “Merlin, Elyan and Gwaine were injured in the attack. Do you remember? We should return to them. You should check on them.” Mordred refused to feel guilty about using his friends’ injuries to get Merlin’s attention when it worked. Merlin looked up at him from the ground, and Mordred nodded. 

“I… I don’t know if I’ll be able to help them. My m-magic is so drained…”

“They don’t need a sorcerer right now. They need a physician.” 

Merlin set his jaw at that and pushed himself from the ground, ignoring or not seeing Mordred’s outstretched hand. 

As they made their way back to their campsite where the rest of the Knights had slowly but surely congregated, Mordred wondered where Arthur had gone, and what state he would be in when he returned. It had not been easy drawing his sword against the King he was sworn to, but seeing how broken Merlin looked now, Mordred knew he would do it a thousand times if it meant protecting him. Not just Emrys, and all that his destiny was supposed to bring. Mordred would protect his friend, Merlin, the man, from anything and anyone. 

He just hoped he would not have to.

___

Gwaine had three broken ribs, none of which had punctured his lung. Elyan had a concussion, as well as a sprained ankle from when he had dropped to the ground after slamming against the tree. Merlin focused on his tasks of wrapping, binding, and splinting, thankful for work that could keep his mind occupied. 

But the work did not last long, much to Merlin’s dismay, and there was little he could do to keep flashes of Arthur’s shocked, heartbroken face from playing over and over again in his mind’s eye. He helped where he could in tidying up the camp -- the Druids had returned from wherever they had fled during the dragon’s attack -- but it seemed that most of that work had been completed while he had been tending to his friends’ injuries. The sun was on its descent already, and Leon had made the executive decision that they would remain here another night and return to Camelot in the morning. 

All this Merlin half-heard from a state of numbness. Mordred had been staying close without hovering, and for that, Merlin was grateful; after a few unreciprocated conversational attempts from Gwaine, asking about his magic or swearing to avenge him against Arthur (Leon had smacked the back of his head for that one), the Knights had more or less left him alone. Merlin supposed that, under different circumstances, he would have been thrilled by their easy acceptance of his magic, but as it was, Arthur’s was the only opinion that had ever mattered anyway, and he had made his clear. 

_Emrys…_ He heard the call, but ignored it. By now, he was sure all the Druids knew what had transpired between him and Arthur. They knew he had let them all down -- the prophecy could not be fulfilled with Merlin dead or banished, and it was only a matter of time before Arthur returned and made that decision. 

_Emrys…_ It was Rhiannon. Merlin could sense her eyes on him from across the camp, but did not look up from where he was staring at the ground before him, sitting on a stump in front of their unlit campfire, Mordred sitting across from him and sharpening his sword. 

_Have faith, Emrys._ Merlin was in no mood for this. The Druids had done enough, plaguing him with this prophecy when there was clearly no way for him overturn a lifetime of living and breathing Uther’s dogma. He had thought, for a moment last night, listening to Arthur question those beliefs… But no. He had ruined it. 

_Leave me alone_ , Merlin responded, casting further than only Rhiannon and not caring who else heard him. He just wanted to escape all their judging stares. 

_Emrys…_ It was not a scold. It was more like pity, and Merlin decided he hated that even more. _Do not lose faith, Emrys. The kingdom of Albion is fated to be. You cannot unravel fate so easily. Not even your own._

 _You do not understand. Did you not see?_ Merlin flung back desperately. _He hates me. He hates magic._

_A half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole. You know this, Emrys._ Merlin pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, willing the tears that were welling to dry. How many years had it been since Kilgharrah had first said that to him? And he had been wrong. The Druids were wrong. They had not seen Arthur’s face. Merlin had. Merlin knew.

 _See, Emrys? Even now, the Once and Future King returns to set right your destiny._ Merlin’s head shot up at these words. Sure enough, Arthur had stepped out of the trees across the camp and was slowly making his way toward them. Too late, Merlin realized that Arthur had been looking directly at him.

___

When his joints had stiffened from sitting in the same position for too many hours, Arthur had decided he could hide no longer. 

Now, he made his way across the camp, uneasy to find the Druids staring at him as he passed. He had spotted Merlin easily enough, and his heart lurched when Merlin made eye contact with him as if he had sensed him approaching. 

Mordred, too, had noticed his approach. Arthur was too distracted by the terrified expression on Merlin’s face to see Mordred moving until the young Knight blocked his path. In the back of his mind, Arthur noted that, when all of this was over, he would have to praise Mordred on his ability to take advantage of distraction to enhance his stealth -- this was the second time today he had managed to maneuver himself between the King and his manservant. 

Mordred had his sword drawn, but he held it down by his side -- not prepared to attack, but defend, and letting Arthur know it. Arthur stopped and looked around. The other Knights scattered around their small campsite had paused in their tasks and were looking their way. None of them spoke, but Arthur knew them all well enough to read their expressions. Percival was observing silently, as was his way. He was sitting beside a resting and recovering Elyan. Leon looked nervous, and was glancing back and forth between Mordred and his unarmed King, no doubt wondering if he should step in. 

Gwaine was glaring daggers. Arthur was sure that if he could move easily, it would be him, not Mordred, rushing to Merlin’s defence. He spared a thought to wonder jealously if Gwaine had known about Merlin’s magic, but filed it away to examine later. 

His gaze returned to Mordred before him, looking more nervous by the second but no less resolute. He sighed. “Stand down, Sir Mordred. I mean you no harm.” 

“What about Merlin? What will you do with him?” 

Arthur looked back to Merlin, whose earlier fear was now overshadowed by the same resignation he had been wearing as he knelt to Arthur’s wrath just hours ago. When Arthur spoke, it was loud enough to carry to all six of his companions, but he kept his eyes locked on Merlin. 

“That is for me and Merlin to decide.” Nodding to his tent, Arthur turned and made his way there. 

The tent that the Druids had provided him with was just tall enough for him to stand in comfortably, and there was still enough sunlight shining through the material of the tent that it was not dark inside. Arthur was only inside for a moment before he heard the tent flap open and someone entered. 

Arthur turned to see Merlin, but it was what he had in his hands that caught Arthur’s attention. It was Excalibur. Merlin held it out to him, pommel-first. Arthur grasped it, and could feel Merlin’s trembling through the steel. Merlin dropped his hands and clasped them behind his back, head lowered, the picture of subservience. 

“Merlin.” If Arthur had not been looking for it, he would never have noticed the barest flinch of Merlin’s features. “Look at me.” 

Merlin did. Arthur took a step closer, his sword still in his hand. He noted the way Merlin’s chest heaved, the way his throat contracted as he swallowed. He was not crying, but the red rimming his eyes made it clear that he had been. Arthur moved closer still, until there were mere inches separating them. Arthur remembered -- had it only been last night? -- when Merlin had been this close, staring at him with a similar intensity. He had kissed him, then. What would he do now?

“Would you stop me?” 

“Sire?”

“Sorcery is punishable by death. But you have shown your strength, and I would be a fool to underestimate you any longer. If I were to raise this sword right now and run you through, would you stop me?”

Merlin’s breath hitched. “No. I… I could, it’s true. But I will not. I will s--” his words broke as he choked back a sob, but he carried on, “I will submit to my King’s judgment.” 

How could Arthur have ever doubted him? 

“I believe you.” He turned from Merlin before he could gauge his reaction, sheathing his sword. He heard a thud as Merlin fell to his knees behind him, but he had seen enough of Merlin kneeling today. He did not turn, but spoke, knowing that Merlin was listening. 

“I asked Rhiannon about the legends of Emrys. Do you know what she said to me?” 

A pause.

“No, sire.” 

“She told me that, when Emrys was revealed to me, I would need to listen.” He clenched his fists and willed himself to say evenly, “And I trust you, Merlin, with my life I trust you. But how will I know if you are telling me the truth, or more lies?” 

“Sire, I… I swear to you. I will not lie to you again. It killed me to carry that burden with me, to betray your trust every day, to be so close and never share that part of myself…” He trailed off, and Arthur suspected they were both thinking of the particular closeness they had been dancing around for ages, one that was only glimpsed last night. 

“Then why did you?” Stupid. He knew why. 

“I was afraid.” 

Arthur turned at that to look Merlin in the eyes. He did not look frightened now. He was still on his knees, but Arthur’s willingness to listen seemed to spark something in him, and he looked determined to take advantage of the opportunity to speak.

“You had reason to be. Look at what I--” But Merlin shook his head.

“I was not afraid of death, sire. At first, perhaps. When Uth-- your father was king, I could not tell you, I could not put you in the position of choosing between me and him. And when you became king, I…” he gave a small, self-deprecating shrug, “I was selfish, sire. I didn’t want to lose you. I couldn’t bear it.” These last words he murmured, as if to himself, and Arthur felt the last of his insecurities melt away. 

“I know it will never be enough, but… I am sorry.” Merlin looked down at his hands in his lap. Arthur moved slowly toward him, and knelt down so that they were on the same level. He reached out his hand, gently, and lifted Merlin’s chin to look into his eyes, brushing a thumb against his cheek to catch a tear that had managed to escape. 

“I am sorry too, Merlin.” Before he could reconsider, Arthur leaned forward and kissed him. 

When Merlin did not respond at first, Arthur tried to pull away, suddenly nervous, but Merlin only looked shocked, not repulsed. “Arthur…?” 

“I couldn’t bear it either,” he breathed. “Losing you. And I almost--” He was cut off when Merlin lunged forward to press his lips back against Arthur’s. Arthur could taste the salt from Merlin’s tears on his lips, but the thought was quickly dismissed as their kissing turned from chaste to desperate. All of the looks, the lingering touches, the quiet, late-night talks spread out before Arthur’s fireplace, everything that they both ached for but knew they could never have and had bottled up inside was unleashed as they held each other and kissed as if they would never get another chance.

“You’ll tell me,” Arthur panted after breaking away, his hand tangled in the hair at the nape of Merlin’s neck and pulling so that their foreheads met, “everything.” 

“Everything, Arthur. Yes. Yes. Always. Everything.” Merlin punctuated each declaration with a kiss. “Everything.” 

Arthur returned his lips to Merlin’s skin, trailing along his jaw and down his neck, tugging his neckscarf out of the way as he went. When he reached the delicate skin above Merlin’s collarbone, he bit down, pleased when a low moan escaped Merlin’s throat and he continued to murmur, “Yes, Arthur, yes.” It was no less urgent than his earlier promises, but it was breathy and pleading and it drove Arthur wild. 

Still sucking a purple bruise onto Merlin’s pale skin, Arthur scrabbled at the laces of Merlin’s tunic, but when it seemed that he was only managing to knot them tighter, Arthur could practically hear Merlin’s smirk. Long, deft fingers reached between them to replace his own, and Merlin had his neckscarf and both their laces undone in seconds with an ease that only years of dressing and undressing others could bring. They lifted their tunics in unison, and in the small area of the tent, it took barely any maneuvering for Arthur to push Merlin from his kneeling position to his back, laying him down on the pile of wool blankets the Druids had left for him on his bedroll. 

He pressed his body flush against Merlin’s, reveling in the slide of skin against skin and swallowing Merlin’s moan as he nudged Merlin’s legs apart with his thigh and ground down against Merlin’s erection. Merlin’s hands were everywhere, tangled in his hair, tracing his shoulders and ribs, grasping at his hips as he arched up into Arthur’s body, seeking friction for his hardening cock. But it was Arthur’s turn to gasp when he felt Merlin’s hand dive beneath his trousers and clutch at his bare arse. 

He reached back and took hold of Merlin’s hand, bringing it between them and onto his own achingly hard cock, and then latched onto a new spot on Merlin’s neck to smother his own moans as Merlin stroked. He could feel Merlin’s other hand fumbling between them also, and realized he was undoing the laces on their trousers when he felt Merlin’s grip shift as he lined up their cocks and grasped them both together in his slender fingers. Arthur could not help thrusting into Merlin’s grip, eliciting a groan from Merlin as their cocks slid together. He wrapped one hand around Merlin’s around their cocks, gripping tightly and slowing Merlin’s strokes to keep himself from coming too quickly. 

Hearing a sharp gasp from Merlin, Arthur pulled his head back enough to look at him. Merlin looked wrecked -- his hair in disarray, his lips swollen and bruised, his pupils blown wide with lust, the irises tinged with golden flecks of magic. The gold pulsed with each stroke on their cocks, and Arthur realized Merlin was struggling to hold his magic back. 

“Let it go, Merlin,” he panted. Merlin’s eyebrows lifted and he looked worried, but Arthur swooped down in a fierce, reassuring kiss. “Don’t hold back, Merlin. Let it go.” He thrust against Merlin’s cock again, and Merlin gasped again as his eyes blazed. Arthur felt the same warm, tingling sensation wash over his body that he had felt back in the clearing, when Morgana’s fireball had dissolved against Merlin’s magical shield, and it was enough to bring him over the edge. They held each other’s gaze as they came together, crying out, and instead of the fear of before, Arthur felt an intense awe at the power reflected in Merlin’s golden eyes. It did not last long, but faded back to blue as Merlin slumped back onto the bedroll and Arthur crashed down in exhaustion, rolling to the side so as not to crush him. 

They lay there clinging to each other and panting, not saying a word. After a few moments, Merlin broke the silence with a soft chuckle, and Arthur glanced over to see him gazing fondly at him. 

“What is it?” 

Merlin reached out and cupped Arthur’s cheek with his hand. “I must admit, I’ve thought about doing this about a thousand times over the years. Almost as often as I thought about how you would react to my magic… But I never guessed one would lead to the other.” 

Arthur smirked. “That often? No wonder you never get any chores done, too busy fantasizing about your King…” Merlin rolled his eyes and laughed, pushing Arthur away only pull him back, kissing him tenderly. 

“I’m glad it did, Merlin.” Arthur pulled back to stare at his manservant, his friend. “We can change things, now.”

Merlin beamed. “Yes, Arthur. We can change everything. Together.”  
___

When Arthur and Merlin stumbled out of the tent hours after they entered it, hungry and happy, all the Knights knew what had transpired between them. After a tense moment of clumsy eavesdropping when Mordred was unsure if their muffled voices had cut off because one of them was dead, sounds resumed, and it became quickly apparent that Mordred was not supposed to be listening to anymore. His mortification must have been written clearly on his face, for as he marched to the opposite side of their campfire and plopped himself down on a stump, taking up his sword and whetstone with vigor, Gwaine barked out a laugh, Leon frowned to hide his smirk, and Percival sighed and pulled a handful of coins from his pack to place in the hand of a tired but smug Elyan. How long that bet had been running, Mordred had no idea, but he found himself laughing in spite of himself.

All the Knights knew what had happened between the King and his manservant, but only Mordred knew of its true significance. The prophecy had been fulfilled. The Once and Future King and Emrys had found each other. Their journey toward Albion could begin.  
___

When King Arthur invited all of the surrounding Druid clans to Camelot for the ceremony of the official removal of the bans on magic, Mordred was again asked to be the Crown’s representative to them.

Mordred had initially tried to defer to Merlin, of course, but as the soon-to-be-named Court Sorcerer, he had enough duties he would need to attend to during these festivities. Merlin had also explained to him that, although he may be Emrys, he would still never know the Druids in the same way that Mordred did. With that understanding, Mordred was proud of his task. 

The ceremony had been splendid, full of Camelot’s usual fanfare, aided by the joy of the people of Camelot at the return of magic. Merlin looked every bit as regal as the King -- living without constant fear of discovery had brought out something in him that made it seem preposterous that he had ever been mistaken for a servant. He was still clumsy, and kind-hearted, as he always would be, but the raw power that had lived confined within him had been given free reign, and Mordred could see it. 

“You did it.” He was seated next to Merlin, who was on Arthur’s right hand at the Round Table. The feast was in full swing, and Mordred could not remember ever being so happy in his life. 

Merlin looked to him and smiled. “No, Mordred.” He looked to Arthur, his precious King, and then swept his hand out to indicate every person in the room until it landed on Mordred’s shoulder. “ _We_ did it.”


End file.
